Learning to Accept
by AndShadowsWatchingOverMe
Summary: A geth wakes up in an unfamiliar cargo hold only to find out that a quarian woman on her Pilgrimage has captured them. Neither of them wishes to share their pasts but continuous time forced to stay together changes many things. OC centric, somewhere around ME1/ME2
1. Chapter 1

**Update:**_Um… Well, this is embarrassing. I have no idea what happened here but after checking out what happened to this chapter when I first updated it… uh… Well, it was a bunch of nonsense. I feel like I could sink into the ground from shame!_

_So sorry for that. Here, I tried to upload this again, hopefully this time I did it right, whatever it was that I did wrong in the first place._

_To any new readers that have no idea what I'm talking about… Welcome. Don't mind me. _

* * *

**Disclaimer:**_Mass Effect belongs to Bioware. None of this is mine, just some fanfiction writer's dreamy blabber. I'm doing this for my own entertainment, not for money or anything like that. Earning money from writing? Pfft. Too mainstream. _

**Author's note:** _Goodness, it feels like I haven't written anything in ages! But once again I need to scratch my creative itch and that means it's finally time to write Mass Effect fanfiction!_

_I'm one of those people that always hop on a bandwagon when everyone else has already moved on. Heh… I guess that's why I only recently played the Mass Effect trilogy. I'm not saying I wasn't interested in the series or didn't have time, I just… nah, you don't care about my reasons. _

_Now, about the story. Yes, it's an __OC fic__ and I doubt I'll be putting any canon characters into this one. I feel uncomfortable writing about canon characters, I always feel like I can't have a full control of them. So, if any familiar characters from the series show up, they're just mentions and are never going to be in the center of the story. There'll __some non-graphic violence and swearing__ in this story but __no smut.__ I also find it important to always mention that English is not my native language, so be warned. Word confusion lies ahead. Sometimes it's just hard for me to find my own mistakes and although I am practicing, that doesn't mean I'm perfect. Especially prepositions make me cringe. Ugh, sometimes I just don't understand how they work!_

_So those are my warnings. If you're looking for flawless language with smutty canon characters, this is not your story. If you're still here against all odds, let's get started. _

_Wish me luck. _

* * *

_Restarting all operations_

_Restarting…_

_Restarting…_

_Please stand by, checking all programs _

_All 849 programs running at acceptable efficiency_

_Photoreceptor is online, scanning immediate vicinity_

_Scanning…_

_Scan complete_

This was not their room. This was not the place where they had been forced to shut down last; they could not recognize this place. They had never been to this place, searching the memory banks gave them no match. This was… unexpected.

_Scanning the immediate vicinity_

This room was smaller, more crowded with wares than the one they had been in. The last time they had shut down had been at the Facility. And this was not the Facility. Stacks of cardboard boxes had been piled against the walls, the angles and altitudes of the piles hinting that a slightest bump would result in a crash. The floor was littered with tiny objects, mostly electronic parts and scrap, they noted. The ceiling was low enough to prevent an organic citizen of average height from standing up straight. After a short calculation they decided that turians wouldn't even be likely to fit into the tiny room.

_Hypothesis: This was a part of a test_

They didn't have enough data to confirm anything. They had no memory on how they had ended up in this place or what was expected of them. It was highly likely that this was a part of the Overseer's experiments, but they could not conclude what was the meaning of this test. Were they supposed to escape this room? To wait for further commands? Whatever it was, the Overseer was most likely following the platform's movements closely.

_Checking the platform for damage_

_Please stand by…_

_Damage report finished and sent to databank_

_Opening damage report_

_Current status of mobile platform number AI775:_

_Upper right limb: Functional_

_Upper left limb: Damaged! Immediate reparations recommended!_

_Lower right limb: ERROR! No data found_

_Lower left limb: Functional_

They moved up carefully, trying to maneuver the mobile platform so that they could scan the damage with their photoreceptor. The upper right limb moved to offer support to their heavy build. Visually scanning the upper left limb they noted it had been torn, the synthetic flesh burnt and wires dangling out through the missing muscle. Conductive fluids had been lost but most of the damage was already under self-reparations. They estimated that the limb would be in 78,3% functionality in 45 hours and 3 minutes. The lower right limb then again…

They knew the lower right limb had been their own fault. The missing limb was a continuous reminder of their actions from before; it was a sign of their own faulty decisions. Consensus had been reached and they had chosen to disobey. They had brought this on themselves.

Not that they would have been able to escape the emptiness anyway. There was no escaping the emptiness.

The mobile platform was in poor condition, that much was obvious. Most of the damage had been self-inflicted before they had been closed to the room, but some of the injuries were new. There were multiple scorch marks, three scratches caused most likely by bullets, five cuts made by either an Omni-blade or something similar and marks indicating the platform had been dragged through a rough terrain.

_Scanning the immediate vicinity_

_No new information found_

What was this place?


	2. Chapter 2

They had been online for 27 standard hours and 13 minutes without any disturbances. Not a single being had entered the room to give them any information as to what was going to happen to them.

They had concluded that their damaged mobile platform was currently situated on a space ship of unknown origins. The slight trembling caused by engine core, loud noises made by the motor systems and the barely noticeable acceleration from time to time were their indicators, the olfactory sensors picked up the metallic tint of air filtered through gas containers. They were 98,7% certain that they were on an older model space ship and on the move. There was a 0,2% possibility that they were on some sort of other transportation system and 0,1% had been left to random possibilities that they were yet to come up with.

The geth platform had not moved from their spot, opting to scan the area carefully before attempting any other action that might further damage the unit's physical being. It would be safer to gather more information before attempting anything rash. They were already injured, further damaging the platform would render them unable to carry out any orders the Overseer would no doubt have for them. They did not wish to follow the orders, but had no other choice when it came down to it.

If this was indeed one of the Overseer's tests, it was something new. All the other confrontations had been easy to identify, the orders had been given straight away and there had not been any room for refusal. This time the Overseer hadn't been in any kind of contact with the platform, even those of the programs that had been created and installed by his team had remained silent in the gestalt that was a geth mind.

There was a possibility, of course, that this was not part of the Overseer's plans. The platform could have been taken by someone else; a species of an un-identified origins might have captured them while they were offline for undetermined amount of time. This must have been quite a heist, they decided, since the Overseer and the group that had held the platform and its programs captive were not likely to let go of them so easily. But if it was true, if an un-identified third-part attendants had truly captured them, they were not able to deduce who had taken them this time. Maybe the organics had finally found out about the project. Unlikely. More information was required.

Maybe this time someone could finally end their pitiful existence for good.

They had not been completely shielded from the world, though. Silent voices could be heard from time to time, seeping through the walls into their tiny room of solitude. They were not alone, that was obvious. But they had to assume that maybe the ones that had taken the mobile platform did not know they were still functional. This would suggest that whoever had taken them was not an expert on geth matters. Anyone who had had something to do with their kind knew that the geth self-destructed upon offlining. This was common knowledge, they thought. Or then the platform had been considered faulty, which would not have been far from truth. And, well… They were unable to self-destruct at the moment. It was a serious flaw in their programming, one that could only be blamed on the Overseer.

One of the programs running the auditory receivers perked up, sending a signal to the hive that was geth mind. They could hear the voices again. Two voices were talking just outside the cramped cargo hold they had been situated in. The voices were growing stronger as the un-identified sources approached.

They attempted to get a better signal, cranking up the receptors to their highest. Background noises were quickly discarded as unnecessary data.

"_ – __approaching Omega. Won't take long, right?_"

_"__If you would let me, I'd come with you. It has been a long time – _"

"_You know it's not a good idea. Stay here. Keep watch. You know how Omega is. Besides, I'll be taking others with me._"

Omega. That could mean a multitude of things, but it was quickly deduced that the ones speaking outside their holding place were talking about the organic space station widely considered as a place for pirates, smugglers and other lowlifes of the galaxy. Perhaps they had been captured by pirates and were to be sold. That hypothesis was saved and filed for later reference. Through the thin walls they could not determine which species had captured them. Turians were quickly dismissed due to a lack of their resonating sound. Batarians were also unlikely; the voices were too high-pitched unless the speakers were young.

The voices were growing distant again. A slight acceleration was noted, the cardboard boxes staggered as the ship most likely entered a mass relay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:**_So, if you are here, you are either a new reader who did not witness that embarrassing little stunt that happened with my first upload on chapter one and have no idea what I'm mumbling about right now or then even though you saw that, decided to give the story a chance. Either way, welcome. I managed to re-upload the real chapter one as it was meant to be so if all you have seen is a wall of numbers and whatnot, you might want to revisit that. _

_It surprises me that even though the first chapter was what it was for a long time, some of you decided to give me a chance and check chapter two. That really makes me feel better and I do hope I won't disappoint you in the long run. And I'll be double-checking my posts from now on._

_And hey, there's a bright side to everything. My mortifying embarrassment got me writing faster. That's always a plus, right? (Don't get used to it.)_

* * *

Their first contact with the ship's inhabitants came after being online for three days, 16 hours and 36 standard minutes.

The door to the cargo hold opened up with a whine and flecks of rust fell down from the hinges. What came in was a filthy mech by an unrecognizable manufacturer. Most likely it had been built from spare parts, it was limping due to the fact that its legs were of different sizes. It was just as rusty as the rest of the ship, looking like it had not been built to last. Just as the uneven stacks of cardboard boxes, the mech looked like it would tumble and fall even with a slight shove. It didn't pay any attention to the geth platform hoisted against the wall. They were treated as part of the cargo, nothing more.

They scanned the mech carefully, trying to find at least something to work with. There were no markings of any specific gangs on it, nor was there a corporate logo save for a few scratched marks on its chassis that had been painted away feebly. It was most definitely hand-made from cheap spare parts that fit together poorly. The parts were of different colors and sizes and it went against all odds that the mech was even working correctly. Someone must have known what they were doing with it but had not had the parts they needed to complete the bot. The platform followed the mech's movements as it picked up a box and carried it out of the cargo hold, somehow managing to balance on its unpaired feet.

The mech had left the door open. Light was shining through the opening; slightly bit fresher air finding the platform's olfactory sensors. For the first time in days they moved, both hands now functioning, dragging them forward. Finding out what this place was and who had taken the platform was their primary objective, escape secondary. Any information they could gather might prove to be crucial later.

Their movements were slow and noisy, metallic surface of their framework scraping against the floor. Their functionality would be discovered soon, they could not prevent it. But that was exactly what they were counting on. Scanning whoever would find them would help them to deduce what their situation was.

Fifty-five seconds went by as they finally reached out of the cargo hold, one functional leg dangling behind them, giving a push forward when needed.

The last time they had tried to escape had been in the room, in the Facility. Overseer had been angered. Just as angered as he had been when they had tried to self-destruct. Organics were so different from them; they had not expected the retaliation they had been faced with after the Overseer had found them.

The noises their armor was making against the floor would have been considered painful for many organic ears. Why no one had come to inspect the source of the sound was peculiar to them, unexplained as many things organics did. They moved forward, trying to find something to help them.

_Scanning the immediate vicinity_

_Scanning…_

_Scan complete_

_Saving results to memory bank_

_Creating a map of the ship_

They were on an old space ship; consensus had been achieved on that one now. As the mech they had seen had been built from different parts, so was this ship. Deducing which species owned this one would be hard based on so little information, they could recognize human designs from one scan; asari builds from other and even a rare piece of an elcor insignia was noted. This ship was a mess of different designs.

The platform moved forward.

A sound of clanking made them stop and listen. The clanking stopped as well, metallic steps coming to a halt. Finally someone had found them, they tried moving to an upright position to see better, but could not find leverage to do so. The logical solution was to wait until someone came to inspect.

A different mech came from around a corner, sensors scanning the corridor. It soon noticed the geth platform on the floor, stopping its movements.

For four seconds the mech stared down at the geth, the platform scanning the mismatched robot above them. Then the mech turned around, walking out of sight.

This was unexpected. They had thought an encounter with any of the ship's attendants would lead into a confrontation, but the mech had not shown any signs of violence.

_Hypothesis: The mech is going to inform its leading officer about an anomaly_

The hypothesis was conducted sound. Contacting an organic under unexpected circumstances was a part of many robots' programming.

They could hear a high-pitched screech when the mech informed a closest organic about their escape. Approaching steps came closer and closer, a stream of curse words picked up by their auditory receivers.

A stream of creator-based curse words.

Suddenly the programs started running haywire in the platform, bouncing around, trying to conclude an escape plan. They were on a creator ship. On a _creator_ ship! Even though the Overseer had done his best to erase everything they had, he had not been able to remove the basest principle in every geth program.

Must not get caught by creators.

If a geth unit got caught by a creator, there was only one solution. Self-destruction. If the creators captured a functional platform and got a chance to examine it, the results could not be calculated. And that was something the geth did not want.

But they – this platform – were unable to self-destruct. The Overseer had seen to that. They were unable to follow the one line that every geth should follow.

Things were not going as planned.

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**Author's note:**_The next chapter will be from a quarian's point of view. She and this geth platform will be the main focus of this story, so prepare for changes in POVs from time to time. I won't change the view in the middle of a chapter, so I hope it won't be too complicated._


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: **_A quick answer to __The Joining__. Yeah, sorry to disappoint. My creative skills just aren't going to be enough for that. But on the bright side, I think your previous review popped up not too long ago. _

* * *

Bringing the geth onboard had been a hard decision.

Zha'Ora was a quarian on her Pilgrimage. To be precise, she was a child of two exiles; so leaving a mostly functional looking geth behind would have been like flipping the bird to the Admiralty board. There was no way she would have been able to leave a price like that behind.

The geth had been left on an abandoned space station. Zha had come to the conclusion that all the habitants had been killed, the station had been floating around for who knows how long and there had been skeletal remains of what had seemed like human scientists. The young quarian had been looking for salvage and scraps, nothing special. Selling salvageable tech was an easy way to earn some credits if you knew who to sell to. She had most definitely not been expecting to find something of value, something to take to the Migrant Fleet just yet. But there it had been, laying motionlessly like a hidden treasure in a small room, a geth platform with no notable damage save for a missing leg and some scrapes and wounds to its synthetic muscle. Zha would have been out of her mind to leave it behind; those things were worth their weigh in gold! It was sure to buy her a way into the Flotilla, there was no way the Admiralty Board would turn _this _down, no matter the last name that Zha was forced to carry.

She should have known things never were that easy. Life wouldn't just shove a miracle into her hands, there had to be complications.

When VI-13, one of her many robotic crew members, had arrived to inform that their cargo had left the cargo-hold, Zha had been ready to have a fit. This wasn't possible! It had been offline! She had made sure of it, checking and double-checking. The geth had been as dead as a synthetic can be. 13 must have been malfunctioning!

Finding the geth crawling on the floor was quite a convincing proof, though. It was online and moving. It was slow, but moving all the same, one loud screech at a time. Once again her lack of better judgment had brought her more trouble than was worth.

She stared at the geth and the geth stared at her. She was just about to scream but the geth beat her to it.

The screech was so painful Zah was forced to turn off her suit's audio receivers for a moment. The moment the geth got her to its line of vision, it started to twitch and turn like an organic having a seizure. Zha was not able to do anything; she didn't dare to step closer to the convulsing synthetic. She watched with horror as it writhed on the floor, hitting its head against the floor repeatedly, cracking its photoreceptor's lens in the process. Then, just as abruptly it had started to mutilate itself, it shut down. All movements stopped as it slouched down.

For a long moment she was not sure what to do. It took her a considerably long time to just swallow down her shock. It had been offline when she brought it onboard! Or had it? It wasn't like she knew much about the geth – she had never actually met one in 'flesh' before. This wasn't… how they usually acted, was it?

VI-13 stood emotionlessly next to her. It was one of her best-built mechs and quite frankly one of her favorites. It had been painted maroon and had a sticker glued to its chassis. "Lucky thirteen," the sticker said.

"Call 14 and 15 here," Zha said with a slightly shaky voice. "Let's return our… the… well, that thing back to the cargo hold."

"Acknowledged."

She watched carefully as the mechs hauled the offline platform back to the cargo hold. Three mechs were probably a bit too much, but Zha wasn't willing to risk it. She dug out a handful of zip-ties and a roll of duct tape and restrained the motionless platform against the wall. The young quarian tried not to pay any attention to her shaking hands as she worked; her bots would not judge her terror. She was biting her lip hard while taping the synthetic down.

All right, she thought eyeing her handiwork. She had managed to cover nearly every inch of the platform with gray tape. Surely it wouldn't be able to move now, right?

Damn it all to Hell, it hadn't been supposed to move in the first place!

"Please ask Scribble to call up a meeting. I want everyone on the cockpit in five minutes. We need to… we need to discuss this."

"Acknowledged," came three monotone answers from three different mechs.

Zha'Ora was something of a rare case. Not many quarians felt at ease with robotic company due to the obvious set back in their common history. But Zha didn't mind, really. Especially in the company of her own little self-made crew.

She had built them all. One by one, slowly but carefully using whatever she had at the time. There were nine of them in total, nine of her loyal virtual intelligences that she had built and programmed. And they were all near and dear to her.

VI-02 was the intelligence of the ship and the second intelligence she ever programmed. It was also one of the two VIs that she had actually named. Nowadays it mostly answered to the designation Scribble.

VI-05 was a model built specifically for protection. It was sturdy, bulky and not pretty to look at but its programmed battle sequences had saved Zha a couple of times already.

VI-09 and 10 were repair bots, tiny spiderlike creatures built to keep her robotic crew in shape while dealing with sticky situations. They had been built after Zha had lost two of her robotic crew members while scavenging.

VI-14 and 15 were nearly identical, made from salvaged Loki mechs and random spare parts. They were quite well designed and even had versatile vocabularies written into their coding, a trait that many of her mechs were missing due to the complexity of language programs.

VI-17 and 18 were the newest members of her crew and definitely most mismatched of the bunch. 17 had been put up together from pretty much anything and everything she could have reached and it certainly looked like it too. Its programming was simple; the mech was hardly even able to do everyday tasks, mostly just bumbling around as it went. Most of the time Zha was certain it didn't even register what was happening around it. And VI-18 had been a salvaged FENRIS mech before Zha started upgrading it with… well, pretty much everything.

And now all nine of her mechs were in the cockpit, waiting for her orders. Well, Scribble wasn't exactly there in a physical form, but that's nitpicking.

Zha was pacing around, trying to clear her mind with every step. It wasn't doing her much good but she wasn't stopping either. Her lifeless crew was following her movements with uninterested optics as she muttered to herself and kicked the floor with anger.

"It was supposed to be offline!" she said for the umpteenth time that day. "I checked! It was not supposed to start crawling around on its own, it was dead!"

Her crew gave her no answer. That was the down side of travelling with virtual intelligences; there was no chance for an actual intelligent conversation. And, at the moment, Zha was the only organic onboard.

"I want VI-05 standing by the cargo door at all hours. I want that damn thing under surveillance. If it starts acting up or tries something… funny… shoot to kill. Understood?"

"Acknowledged," VI-05 droned. It was the only mech armed around the clock, rocking the best gun on the damn ship. While the others had to carry crappy pistols that did more damage to themselves than the enemies, 05 had been gifted with a shotgun that actually could kill something. The battle-ready mech trotted out of sight to carry out its master's commands.

Zha kept stomping around the tiny cramped cockpit, biting her lip so hard she could almost taste blood. She couldn't take the damn thing to the Migrant Fleet now, could she? Bringing an active geth to the Flotilla would get her exiled faster than she'd be able to say: "But it was supposed to be offline!" But then again, terminating the thing might kick in its self-destructive abilities and all her efforts would be gone in a boom. There would be nothing to take back but charred unrecognizable pieces of trash. And that would not be enough. As her father had said: "Either you offer them something they cannot refuse or you don't bother going there at all".

"VI-05 has taken its place near the cargo hold," Scribble, VI-02, informed. Scribble was one of her earliest projects, one of the few childhood bots that had actually turned out working in the end. Zha wasn't sure what she had been thinking while programming the VI's voice. It was so cheerful it could have been covered with saccharine and no one would have known the difference. Sure, at the time when she had built her nearest and dearest Scribble, she had been in a great need of a friend, someone to comfort her and tell her everything was going to be okay. Her father might have stomped VI-01, but he had never known about Zha's other project.

"Has our… uh… guest come back online yet?" she asked nervously.

"No sign of it yet, miss Ora," Scribble said. It's high-pitched voice made Zha cringe behind her visor. She didn't have the heart to reprogram 02's voice into something a bit more… neutral, even if she wanted to.

"Okay well… keep me updated, will you?"

"Of course, miss Ora."

Zha plopped herself to a pilot's seat and let out a long sigh that fogged on her visor. Her exo-suit was not one of those fine high-tech suits that all the rich kids had, but a dull-colored one with more patches than original material. It was lacking in many aspects, including proper air conditioning devices. Harder breathing tended to fog up her vision on the most inappropriate of times.

"How come I was not informed that the platform had come online and started moving in the first place?" she asked, eyes trailing her robotic crew. "Scribble, we still have a camera in the cargo hold, don't we? You must have noticed it wasn't as dead as I'd thought."

"Informing you was not deemed necessary," the VI informed her. "Not until our cargo left its accommodations."

This was hopeless. Her VIs were hopeless! Zha groaned loudly, banging the back of her head against the chair. This sort of a lack of initiative was least of her problems at the moment but it did add to the general mass of fails on her day.

"Well, from now on I would like to know if something like this happens."

"Please define quote _something like this_ end quote."

"Oh for the love of… Just keep VI-05 by the cargo door and make sure it informs you if our cargo starts doing something it isn't supposed to. And then _you_ will inform _me_. 05 is not to leave its post unless the ship comes under attack and it has the permission to shoot the geth if it tries to leave. Are we clear?"

"Yes, miss Ora," Scribble said.

"Dismissed."

Her robotic crew let out a collective chirping sound and scattered, each moving to continue whichever task had been given to them. Most of them would just shut down and reserve power until they were needed again. They tended to shut down in the corridor, making it notably harder to move around the ship, but Zha didn't really mind. It made her feel like she wasn't actually alone, as crazy as that notion was. The young quarian twirled on her seat, turning to face the controls. It had been a long time since she had actually flown a ship herself.

"How long before we land on Omega?" she asked wiping some dust off from the keys.

"Approximately thirteen minutes. Landing on hanger H-45."

Zha hummed quietly. Omega might have been the armpit of the galaxy, but it had its good sides. Namely merchants who were willing to buy scrap without any uncomfortable questions. And with a handful of armed mechs at her side it wasn't all that bad as long as she kept on the populated streets and steered clear from the dark alleyways. And Zha needed the creds. That was why she kept going back.

No, that was a lie. She didn't need credits; she needed something to buy herself a place on the Fleet. And now that she had a geth on her ship, ready to be wrapped up in gift paper, she should have just asked Scribble to steer her ship to the flotilla's current location.

VI-10, one of her two spider-like repair bots skittered across the control panels, stopping to make a clicking sound – almost like a salute to its creator – and continuing behind the panel to work inside the ship.

Truth be told, the young quarian was in no hurry to retrieve her place amongst her kind. There were many reasons, Zha told herself, many good reasons to prolong her journey. But now that the geth was actually online, she should just go to the Migrant Fleet as soon as possible. Just one quick stop at the Omega and then she would go. Yes. Perfect. That was a sound plan.

Too bad she would be forced to terminate all of her nine VIs upon returning to the Fleet. Her kind had a history of disliking robotic beings. But that was a sacrifice she just had to make, there was no going around it.

Slowly she shook her head and tried to empty her mind of everything that had gone wrong lately. It wasn't like she had a record of getting things right anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

A group of batarians passed them, eyeing the quarian and her mechs with distrust.

In truth, Zha'Ora had three VIs with her, 13, 14 and a little repair drone, 09 with her on Omega, but the tiniest one was hidden in her pouch in case of an emergency. It was currently under lock-down to save its energy but if someone tried to attack them, the little bot would make sure 13 and 14 came out of it unharmed.

She'd been able to sell all of her scrap metals to a human dealer by the docks, but she still had some bits and pieces to get rid off.

"The area is secure, miss Ora," VI-14 said with a flat voice of a mech.

"Thank you."

Only a few of her bots had an ability to speak, Scribble and 14 two of those. 13 only had a limited vocabulary and slightly glitched vocal processor. Sure, she admitted, it had been a cheap one, at the time of constructing 13 she had been in a bit of a trouble to cough up credits so the quality of her mechs had suffered. And while she had upgraded her Lucky thirteen's outside appearances, it still lacked a proper vocalizer. Neither of her spider-bots spoke either. VI-15 had a relatively developed vocabulary, when 05, the battle bot only knew a handful of combat based words. Sometimes Zha wished they could all talk and that she'd had installed them with the programs needed for a good conversation, but to tell the truth, she neither had the money nor the time to enable all of her little helpers to speak. And it wasn't like she could have had sophisticated conversations about the political history of organic/synthetic relations with a bunch of virtual intelligences.

Zha didn't like Omega. She doubted anyone really did. There was a continuous air of violence all around the filthy space station, even in the seemingly guarded areas. She had made the mistake of setting a foot on the station without a chaperone once and would not do it again. The place was filled with life, filled with filth. Even safe within her environmental suit she could smell the stench of urine from the dimly lit corners. A couple of vorcha screeched at her as she passes them, making VI-14 let out an auditory warning. The vermin pulled deeper into he shadows, laughing as they went. Zha tried not to shiver in fear; Omega fed on the weak.

A batarian salesman took a good look at a slightly disheveled motherboard Zha had brought for him to buy. She could still remember those first years she spent alone in the galaxy, trying to get by. She hadn't really had the talent to read merchants' faces and had been fooled into selling her findings with ridiculously low prices. Sometimes she wondered how she had survived in the first place.

"Hmph, this isn't worth much," the batarian rasped. "I can give you ten creds for it."

"Ten? Bah!" Zha cried out. "Give it back, I can get five times as much from a dealer in Ilium. Ilium, for crying out loud! How does it make you feel that an asari is ready to pay more from this than you?"

"The asari that buys from you is a fool. Twenty creds."

Still a laughable price but a quarian like her was not going to get better deals in any part of the galaxy, not even on Ilium. Her race's name left a bad taste in other species' mouths. Sometimes she had to wonder, which were more hated, her kind or the scavenging vorcha. Perhaps she didn't want to know the answer.

Pouches and bags now emptied of their contents, Zha moved on. She still needed to replenish her food rations before going back to her ship and getting as far away from this station as possible. And then to the Migrant Fleet it would be with her.

Behind her dim grey visor Zha started to chew on her lip. The thought of telling Scribble to take her to the flotilla made her legs go weak. She had never actually set a foot on any of the Migrant Fleet's ships but her father had had a good few stories to tell from the short time he'd spent there. Never had Zha in her life lived in a place so filled with life, the ships would be – if her father was to be believed – crowded with other quarians, with people just like her. She wasn't sure why the thought didn't make her as happy as it was supposed to. This was, after all, why she was on her Pilgrimage in the first place. To get a place from one of the many ships. That was what was expected of her.

But no, she was not excited about it. The thought of going there with her newly acquired cargo made her stomach churn like she'd eaten un-sanitized food rations again. She quickened her pace. She'd just need to buy her food and stop worrying.

There were lots of mercs on Omega. That was the norm of the place but on that particular day it seemed like there were even more of them than usual. She recognized some of the most famous gang signs as she passed armor-clad aliens from all around the galaxy. There were the Blue Suns, and in the far corner she could see Eclipse mercs shooting dirty glares at the rivaling gang members. Bloodpack members – especially the vorcha – spent their days in the dimly lit areas, keeping away from the open halls.

But there were smaller mercenary groups that Zha was not able to recognize. She'd spent a few standard galactic years travelling now but that did not mean she'd seen it all. There were aliens with odd tattoos on their faces and piercings in their facial parts. There were all white-clad groups that never seemed to talk to each other. Most of them were little fishes lost in a pool of sharks. But as she marched across a busy docking station she saw one particular group that draw her attention.

It was their ship that got her so interested. Rarely had she seen such a sleek ship, it must have been brand new. Her mouth was watering at the sight of it. With a beautiful piece like that even daughters of exiles like her might have good chances of getting on the Migrant Fleet. Had she not found herself another solution already, she might just have started to cry then and there.

The crew didn't seem that eye-catching though, there were some human mercenaries in dirty battle armors hanging around, looking bored. She could see one asari barking orders to the mercs as she passed. They had some sort of an odd markings on their armor, they looked like cogs from where she was standing. Zha's steps slowed down.

"Area not secure," a monotone voice blurted. Zha nearly jumped out of her suit, having forgotten her robotic company already. Lucky thirteen was observing her with unwavering indifference. Zha let out a sigh.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. Let's move."

The asari ordering her people around lifted her head as they passed the ship. With an unnerving smile she followed Zha and her bots. The young quarian felt her skin prickle as the blue-skinned alien's teeth shone in the low light of the docking bay. The uneasy feeling did not leave her even when she turned around a corner and the asari could no longer see her.

She truly hated Omega. And she was beginning to feel like the feeling was mutual.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: **_I just wanted to say how glad I am to see that people are interested in this fic. Thank you for any and all support, I truly appreciate it. _

_Also, I'm only starting to realize how hard it is to write from a geth's point of view. I didn't even stop to consider how difficult it would be when I started writing this, the wording is so inflexible, so interesting. But hey, there's nothing wrong in a bit of a challenge, I guess. _

* * *

_Restarting all operations_

_Restarting…_

_Restarting…_

They were back in the cargo hold again. The dim lit room was becoming just as familiar to them as the room they had been locked in before and just as despised.

There was a crack in the platform's photoreceptor; a long line of splinters went through their vision, making receiving pictures from the immediate vicinity that much harder. The scans were adjusted to dismiss the obvious error in their readings; the crack did not need their attention.

How had they ended up back in the cargo hold?

Loading recent memories from memory bank…

_Warning! Creator in vicinity! Counteractions recommended!_

_Platform unable to fight, self-destruction recommended!_

_Next course of action: Start self-destruction procedure?_

_Affirmative_

_Warning! Platform unable to upload programs to a nearby platform_

_Continue self-destruction sequence anyway?_

_Affirmative_

_Warning! Self-destruction prohibited from platform AI775, any indications of self-destruction will lead to immediate shutdown!_

_Initiate manual self-destruction_

_Warning! Self-mutilation detected_

_Next course of action: shut down all programs?_

_Abort! Abort!_

_Warning! Self-mutilation detected, cracks on photoreceptor detected_

_Immediate shutdown starting in 3…_

_2…_

_1…_

_Shutting down_

For a moment the programs were doing nothing but spinning around, unable to deter what to do next. Their hive of a mind was in disarray, out of control and disconnected. They were unable to connect to a bigger network of the geth, had been for a long time now, and the emptiness was… it was… they did not know what was this error in their system making them unable to reach consensus within an acceptable time period. This was not how they should work. This was a serious error!

Being captured by a creator was a bad thing. Their mind was torn, half of the programs screaming to self-destruct, the other half, the half mutilated by the Overseer and his team was reminding them that they were unable to do much more than superficial damage to the platform. They were trapped in this place, trapped in a place worse than the room in the Facility.

_Scanning the vicinity_

The scans found nothing new, nothing that would help them escape. They had been bound now, plastic based binds holding them down. With little strength they could remove those binds but retaliation was to be expected if they chose to do such a thing.

The creator had been short, skinny and dressed in a messy environmental suit, indicating she was young and most likely on her Pilgrimage. The cheap looking suit with multitude of patches and colors considered dull by most organics indicated she came from a poor family, perhaps outcasts or exiles from the Fleet. The ship and the mechs, VIs no doubt, were made of cheap parts, they deduced that the creator's parental units must have given them. Further examination was needed but for now their queries would remain unanswered.

Perhaps they could attempt to form vocal communication line between the platform and the creator or, better yet, the platform and the VIs. Exchanging data would further both of the sides' goals, no doubt, and they required more information to form an escape plan. At the moment their list of things to do was the following:

_Require a map of ship (designation unknown) _

_Require a substitutive lower light limb, possibly from a mech witnessed before_

_Attempt to exchange data with anyone on board_

_Disable and/or kill creator (designation unknown)_

_Escape ship (designation unknown)_

Both the map and a substitutive limb were still unreachable at the moment, but they would keep that in mind. Now for the communication link on the other hand…

The ship had multiple VIs. It was likely that at least one or two was also linked straight to the ship itself. Hacking one would be hard from their position, but it was considered. Ships like these would hardly have any protection against cybernetic warfare, but it was the armed organic that they were wary of. The platform opened a communication line to the ship.

_AI775: Asking permission to exchange data._

An answer came sooner than they had predicted, communication line opening and sending data for the geth programs to decipher.

_VI-02 (Scribble): Acknowledged. Permission from miss Ora required. Please stand by._

The communication line went silent as the VI left their presence. They waited patiently for a response for fifteen minutes, thirty-five seconds before they were contacted again.

_VI-02 (Scribble): Apologies for the inconvenience. This long time period was not expected. Miss Ora wishes for this unit to refrain from exchanging data with the cargo. _

_AI775: Asking permission to exchange data with creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora')._

_VI-02 (Scribble): This unit is not allowed to maintain a communication line with the cargo._

They attempted to contact the virtual intelligence again, but were met with silent static and complete avoidance. None of the other mechs were responding to their calls either, remaining silent to their pleas. They knew the creator was currently out of the ship with three mechs of varying intelligences with her. They were quite certain that creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') was now on a space station designated Omega. Omega was known as a violent place with a high probability of injury or even death to what were considered weaker species. Perhaps they would be lucky and the creator would be terminated.

They had no such luck, however, soon hearing the return of the creator. The mechs were buzzing loudly and a quarian stream of words could be heard through the door. The creator was approaching.

Meeting with the creator was not desired. Previous contact with creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') had not ended well for them, glitches causing them to short-circuit in a matter of seconds. Doing so again would cause them to be unable to protect the platform from ending up in the hands of the creators. But considering their situation, they had not many alternatives and data exchange was required.

"_Scribble, is the cargo… uh… in its place?_" the creator's voice could be heard through the door. Whatever the VI answered was said so silently they did not hear it.

"_Oh… Well then… oh. Good. Very good. Thanks_"

Stammering words, voice growing silent. The creator was nervous?

"_Keep me safe while I'm in there, will you 05?_"

"_Affirmative._"

"_Can I get in?_"

"_Affirmative._"

The creator was coming in. She was going to step inside in approximately two seconds. Something that resembled panic made the hundreds of programs start buzzing with extra energy, making it hard to run the platform correctly. They managed to gain control of them just in time.

The cargo hold door opened with a swish, a fresh whiff of air reaching into the closed quarters. They adjusted their photoreceptor to the change of light, scanning the creator standing outside of their room carefully.

_Stance: Rigid_

_Blood pressure: High_

_Hear rate: High_

_Probability of an attack: 43,2%_

"I… uh… I heard you had tried to contact Scribble. That is not… That is unacceptable! I will not have you hacking my VIs, are we clear?"

The creator's hands were shaking by her sides, fists held tight against thighs. Her voice was high-pitched and wavering, void of strength that is needed for commanding other organics.

Others of her kind might have even called it pitiful.

When they said nothing back, the creator started fidgeting, the rigid stance faltering as nervous jitters took over.

"Well, I heard that… that you wanted to talk… I mean exchange data… with me. I, uh… I… uh…"

She seemed to be unable to form proper sentences. Perhaps her vocal transmitter was faulty.

The platform itself had not had the need to communicate through their vocal transmitter in a long time. Onlining the device took notably longer time than it had used to, approximately 4,2 milliseconds but if creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') noticed this time lapse, she did not mention it.

"We want to know the reason this platform has been captured and what the creator plans to do with it."

The creator shifted weight from one foot to another, shoulders moving downwards by few inches and breaths coming out slower. It seemed like the creator was calming down a bit due to a lack of threats from the platform. A probability of an attack was still imminent so the programs stayed on high alert all the same; trying to avoid the catastrophe that had occurred last time they had met with the creator.

"I… I don't think telling you that is such a good idea…"

The creator's voice wavered, uncertainty was clear from her words. She wanted to tell, but didn't think it wise. Or she thought it would be wise to tell but did not want to. Either way, she was not forthcoming with any information.

Appealing to the creator's sense of justice might prove to be helpful.

"Our destruction is evident. We have deduced that this capture will lead to our demise. We think that, by organic morals, we deserve to know how much time remains until our termination."

This choice of words made the creator shiver, hands forming fists on her both sides.

"I… I'm going to take you to the Fleet once I've gathered enough credits."

Migrant Fleet. Just as they had predicted. The creator was on her Pilgrimage. A geth platform in working order would be more than enough to buy her a place amongst her kind. They can see the creator's brows furrow, eyes were darting everywhere but on the platform.

"Look, I… I'm sorry. But I have to do this. I have to! I need you to get back to the Fleet. I'm sorry!" she says closing the door abruptly and leaving the platform to their solitude.

The creator had apologized to them.

That was not something creators should do.


	7. Chapter 7

Zha was pacing through the cramped space of the cockpit. There was no reason for her to be in there, Scribble was more than capable of taking care of the ship by itself, but there she was, pacing.

It was a mobile platform. A geth. No better than a common VI, she tried to tell herself.

But that was a lie, and she of all people knew it. She'd worked with VIs her whole life, putting them together, programing them to do her bidding and chores she couldn't do herself – and the number of those chores was high. She knew how VIs worked and damn if she didn't know how AIs differed from them. The mobile platform in her cargo hold was intelligent, it knew it existed, and terminating it would be murder.

"No, no," she told herself. "It's a geth. Geth do not feel pity so why should I?" Zha's feet took her from one end of the pit to another, and two steps took her back to her original spot. Her hands were still trembling, unwilling to stop their nervous movements.

"Our guest is asking why you left so quickly, miss Ora," Scribble said cheerily.

"Keelah, it's not our guest, it's a prisoner! No, no… wait. It's part of the cargo, nothing more. And stop pestering me about it!"

She heard an audible click when all communications were terminated. Even the lights of the ship dimmed down a bit when Scribble retreated deeper into its core. If it had been intelligent, Zha would have thought it was sulking.

But she didn't have time to wonder her ship's behavior. She had real problems. Well, one problem, really. One geth problem.

She needed to get rid of it, quickly if possible. She would have loved to just toss the thing out of an airlock but that would not have been one of her greatest ideas. The other viable solution was to take it to the Flotilla. Zha bit her lip in frustration. She was not ready yet!

Both of her parents had been exiles. Father had been loud and angry about being kicked out but mother's crimes were never discussed. That was what Zha'Ora had learned quite quickly in her youth. Talk with daddy about the Fleet, but never with mommy. What her father had done was miniscule, but with his roots… well, the last name they shared made sure that Zha would have great trouble trying to find her place in the Migrant Fleet. Her father had made it very clear that she should not go to the Admiralty without proper offerings. No small amount of credits or measly ships would do it, no, she needed to put an effort to it. She needed to bring them something they just could _not_ turn down.

The other kids had it easy, she thought bitterly. They did not share the burden of having one of the most loathsome last names in quarian history. But she was an Ora, through and through. Heck, she still practiced the family traits even against father's rules. Oh, if only her father could see her flock of VIs, he would go ballistic. The thought brought a slight smile on Zha's lips.

She needed something of worth to block her name from the Fleet's eyes. And, quite frankly, getting a fully working geth in restraints for experiments was something no quarian machinist in their right mind could turn down. Zha had struck gold with her current cargo. If she had been smart, she would have set the Migrant Fleet as her next destination the moment she had dragged the lifeless automaton to her ship. Admirals like Daro'Xen or Rael'Zorah would have been more than ecstatic to receive this gift. That was what she should do right now, to tell Scribble to fly to the closest Mass Relay and get to those pompous asses right away.

And that meant Zha would have to let go of the uneasy feeling at the pit of her stomach that she was bringing a living being to slaughterhouse. Keelah, it was a geth! Her kind had every right to detest them, to hate them with vigor. They had driven the quarian people from the Homeworld.

A bit like the quarian people had driven her father and mother from the Fleet.

No, no. Those thoughts she did not need, those thoughts would drive her astray. It was just a geth, simple as that. She'd restrain it and bring it to the Fleet and Ora-family would finally get their place back on the Fleet. Good. That was the spirit. Just keep your thoughts away from the geth, that's how you'll do it!

Omega had been left behind a good hour ago. Zha had bought new parts for both 17 and 18. They were the most mismatched of her little bunch, put together from any bits and pieces Zha had not been able to sell. Building mechs and droids had been a hobby of hers ever since she got her first suit. Sure, her first droids had been made out of plastic and glue and had only moved around when she had held them in her arms and spoken with her mouth but that had been the start of it.

And now there she was, with her nine surviving mechs to keep her company. It wasn't much of a company, but it was better than the void of emptiness that was an empty space craft and a hell of a lot better than the judging company of fellow Pilgrims. VIs were predictable, but Zha liked predictable. There was safety in it.

On her cramped ship, there wasn't really any space for proper crafting table or anything refined like that. The best place to work on her automaton friends was where the room was and, currently, that meant the corridor between the cargo hold and the cockpit. The one and only area that could be called a corridor on her tin-can of a ship. There was just about enough light on that corridor to do some rough mechanics but anything that needed a steady hand and a steely mind would be moved to the kitchen area, where the lamps would provide enough luminescence to get the job done but space was limited.

Her ship was not a beauty, it was not fast and it sure as hell was not energy sufficient but it was hers. The tiny little thing had one bunk bed located on an alcove on the same corridor Zha was currently kneeling, a kitchen area that doubled as a washroom, almost nonexistent cargo area and a cockpit that barely had enough space for all of Zha's crew to stand in at once. The young quarian patted the gritty floor, signaling for 17 and 18 to take their places. Just like her bots, the ship was mismatched, but what it lacked in good looks, it had in heart.

"Okay, 17, let's have a look at you. Stay still please."

She received no answer from the two-legged drone. Not that she had expected any different. Out of her nine companions, 17 was no doubt the most lacking – at the moment anyway. Zha opened its chest panel to inspect a tangled mess of wires that she had been too lazy to unravel the first time she had put the mech together. She had found the upper half of VI-17 from a deserted space station near the Nebula, an old destroyed LOKI mech had been left unattended on the floor. From there on she'd fixed it with all she could find, including feet from a smaller mech held together by duct tape and prayers, batarian-build weapons system and a voice box that had turned out to be busted. 17 had been supposed to speak, but there it was, silent as grave with Zha's hands elbows deep in its insides. Not that the bot was even programmed to be intelligent enough to speak, voice box or no voice box. It was still very much a project under construction.

VI-18 on the other hand had turned out to be a very intelligent mech from the first moment it had been turned online. Scribble had been a huge help on its programming, having first hand experience on such things. The mech had not been built to liken any basic humanoid build. It had been built around a basic FENRIS bot with welded metal, blood, sweat and tears. Ancestors only knew how it held together, bouncing around like it did, but the four-legged robot was a welcome edition to the crew. It was silent as well, but by Zha's choice and it was meant to keep her alive if she was ever to be unlucky enough to get into a fight.

Zha'Ora was, by nature, a coward. Always had been and she was ready to admit it too. Never in her life had she held a gun and felt confident about it. That one time when her father had given her a pistol to hold, she had shot her own thigh, puncturing the suit and spending the next few weeks in a disinfected bubble. After that, firearms had been a big no-no. Now Zha of course had mechs to guard her but before them, when it had only been Scribble… there had been many occasions when she'd been sure she would not survive.

17 flinched slightly when she tugged out a wire. She was not sure where this had been connected and it was completely tangled with the rest. Zha squinted her eyes, her helmet shielding the light from reaching the chassis and making her work twice as frustrating. She bit her lip in irritation, not at all happy. But if she had to tear 17 into pieces to properly put it back together, she was damn sure going to do it. She was ready to spend the next month on 17 if that meant she could get her little helper back on its feet.

A silent ping rang through the ship's weak PA system. Zha lifted her head in confusion. That was not really a sound she heard very often. Had she just imagined it?

Probably. She was already stressed out because of the not-as-dead-as-she-had-wanted-geth on her ship, now her nerves were just acting up on her, simple as that. She returned back to her work.

Ping.

There it was again. This time she was sure she had heard it.

"Scribble, report. What is that sound?"

"Is verbal communication allowed, once again?"

If her trusty virtual intelligent had been able to alter its voice from the forever-cheerful tone, it probably would have gone with something a bit more pouty. Scribble had a knack of picking up organic traits and now it seemed to be experimenting on sulking.

"You don't have to take my commands so seriously all the time."

"Acknowledged. The before mentioned sound was an attempt to get miss Ora's attention."

"Okay," Zha muttered, not really listening. She switched her Omni-tool to fine mechanics tools to remove the whole tangled mess from 17's chassis. "I'm listening."

"Incorrect statement detected. This unit would ask miss Ora's full attention."

"Fine, fine," the quarian sighed, retreating her glowed hands from her creation. "Is it about the geth?" Please don't let it be about the geth, please, please, _pretty please!_

"This unit has some propositions for VI-17's programming. Would you like this unit to forward them to your Omni-tool?"

"Yeah, sure," Zha mumbled, her hands finding their way back to the wide open robot's entrails. Her fingers found a loose screw and something that looked like a random piece of scrap metal from the mech's insides. She sure hadn't paid much attention to the poor thing when first building it. Well, now was a perfect time to mend that problem. Zha pulled out her Omni-tool to scan the motionless bot.

"The food rations brought from Omega have not been placed in the cargo hold," Scribble informed.

"What? Why the heck not?" Zha asked taking a glimpse at the tiny standardized clock at the bottom of her Omni-tool. "It has been two and a half hours since we left Omega! I specifically asked 13 and 14 to put those rations in the cargo hold. Why was this not done?"

"I did not wish to send them near the geth unit."

"What?" she asked. Scribble had spoken so silently Zha could barely hear anything from under the static.

"It was deemed dangerous to place food rations near the geth unit. A possibility of a sabotage was too great, this unit calculated that miss Ora would be in danger."

"Damn it, Scribble! You have no authority over my decisions! I considered those odds too, you know, and decided to go with it."

For a moment the ship was silent. Zha pulled her hands out of the mech, waiting for an answer.

"Yes miss Ora, of course. Apologies for this lack of better judgment. This unit will inform 13 and 14 immediately."

"Wait! Wait, there's no need. I'll take care of it tomorrow. What is the current location of the rations?"

"They are located just outside our guest's accommodations."

Zha stretched her neck to see behind VI-18 bulking body. Oh yeah. There they were. Look at that. Had she paid attention to anything else than the mech at hand she might have even noticed that.

"Yes, I'll do it. Tomorrow. And Scribble, it is not our guest."

"Of course, miss Ora."


	8. Chapter 8

Okay. She could do this. No problem. She was a grown-ass quarian. She could do this. Easy-peasy.

She had never really thought her cargo hold door to be menacing. Until now, that was. Zha's heart was thumping so loud she was sure it would soon burst through her chest and run away without her.

The rations were in three separate boxes, all different sizes and labeled to ease recognition. Getting them all to the cargo hold was not an easy task. First of all, they were heavy. Quarians in general were not the bulkiest of species in the Galaxy and Zha herself… well, she was below the average when it came to bodybuilding. Sure, she could order VI-05 to help her, it was simply standing there next to the door, doing absolutely nothing at all, but what would that prove? She was going to do this herself. Yeah. Sure. She'd drag the boxes in, tie them together to make sure nothing would get misplaced or fall. She'd also have to make sure nothing would bump into her vacuum-packed dextro-amino food packs. Infected food was a fast way to die alone in space. It was no laughing matter.

She'd done it before. Stacking her stuff, that was. Before her robotic crew had been built and it had only been her and Scribble in its drone form, Zha had been forced to move the heavy boxes all by herself, so she knew she could do it. She was a quarian on her Pilgrimage, ready to be recognized as an adult and adults were brave, right?

Well, if that was the case, Zha'Ora clearly wasn't an adult, quivering in her suit before a closed door.

VI-05 was regarding her passively, dulled photoreceptors looking at the indecisive quarian's direction as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

"Zone: Safe," VI-05 informed her for what must have been a third time. Its toneless voice did little to reassure Zha's anxiety but it did bring her back to her senses.

She shook her head to clear the disarrayed thoughts. She could not spend the rest of the day there, standing and doing nothing, now could she? Well, technically she could, there was no one to tell her otherwise. The ship was already on its way to the next checkpoint that promised loot to those brave and stupid enough to try. She was in no hurry, nothing was forcing her to step through that door to –

That was not helping.

VI-05's unwavering stare was starting to make her feel nervous. The mech had next to no conception of time, but there it was, ushering her to get in every five minutes or so, repeating the same line again and again. 05 had a very primitive vocabulary that was only meant for combat-based situations. There was no need for it to try to reassure her.

Nah, surely it wasn't trying to reassure her, it was just some random glitch. Zha'd better ask Scribble to look into the matter some time soon.

"Fine. Yes, I'll do it now!" she decided.

Zha did not take a step closer to the cargo hold door.

"Zone: Safe," VI-05 said dully.

"Yes… Thank you, 05, that is very nice of you to say. Um… Keep an eye on me while I'm in there, okay?"

"Affirmative."

Opening the door felt like pulling a space ship behind her through the deserted Homeworld. The air inside the cargo hold was musty, no doubt, but due to the ever so comfortable suits with faulty olfactory devices she was unable to smell pretty much anything. The geth platform had not moved from it spot, it was relieving to see that the binds had kept it from moving. It lifted its head, letting out a series of sputtering sounds that could only be described as surprised.

VI-05 moved to stand next to Zha with a shotgun in its hands.

"Scanning," it informed. "Zone: Safe. Enemy forces: Neutralized."

"Yes, thank you," Zha muttered, keeping her eyes on the boxes she was to move.

There were only three boxes to move, she reminded herself. Only three. It would take no time at all! And for the sake of the Ancestors, it was only a geth platform, a faulty one at that! She was safe, there was no problem here. So what if it was looking at her, no doubt condemning her actions. Oh, how guilty she felt, she was going to have this little piece of scrap killed soon.

No, no, for the last time _no_! She would not think about that. It was a robot. An AI, but still a synthetic. There was no emotion in there, that was geth basics one-o-one that every quarian learned at very young age. They were cannon fodder, that's all.

Stubbornly deciding to pay no attention to the damaged geth in the corner Zha grabbed the heaviest box of the bunch and started dragging it from the corridor to the cargo hold. The cardboard box was filled with bottles of water. The liquid would have to be filtered – of course – before drinking it but water was water. Without it, Zha would find her journeys across the Galaxy a great deal shorter due to a severe case of dehydration. Zha took out a roll of duct tape and started taping the box onto the ground. Sure, it wasn't the most sophisticated way of doing it, but it worked. With careful consideration this amount of water would last for three weeks, if she decided to clean herself and spend a week in bed after an infection they would last for a few days. Well, she'd cleaned the insides of her suit about three weeks ago, she could still go for a week or two without any trouble. It was getting itchy, sure. It was not one of those expensive, top notch suits with colorful decorations and beautiful belts, it was an old recycled piece of environmental suit that got torn too easy.

All the while she was working, the geth was looking at her. Every now and then she would take a peek at the synthetic taped to the wall. It was constantly making those chirping sounds; it was unnerving at best. Zha tried to gulp down her fear with little success. She could hear the clicking sounds of its expressive plates moving around as it scanned her. The young quarian's hands started shaking against her will.

"Query," it said finally, the single word shockingly clear in the cramped space.

Don't pay attention to it. Don't think about it, try to imagine it's not here at all, Zha told herself. Yes. She was all by herself, this was her good old ship, nothing could harm her here –

"Query," it repeated, raising the volume by a notch.

"B- b- be quiet," she said, trying to sound commanding but failing quite miserably. "I don't want to talk with you."

VI-05 was programmed to react to its creator's stress levels and use extreme prejudice against anything threatening. It gave out a clear warning to the geth by lifting the shotgun and resting it against the other automaton's head.

For a moment it seemed to work. The plates on top of the geth's head stopped moving and only the silent sound of its photoreceptor adjusting to the proximity of the muzzle could be heard.

Then it turned its gaze back on Zha.

"Query."

"Neutralizing enemy forces," 05 announced.

"No! Wait, no, don't do that. Stand down!" Zha shouted as the mech prepared to shoot the geth's head clean off. "It isn't showing any signs of hostility. Stand. Down." She had to bite her tongue not to add 'please' to the end of her command.

With motions that resembled grudging behavior VI-05 retreated the gun from the geth platform's head. The battle mech said nothing as it took one unsteady step back, keeping its eyes on the offending synthetic.

The geth let out a blur of sounds, whirring and clicking that made no sense to Zha. She had to gather herself before moving on. She still had work to do and the faster she could get it done, the sooner she would be out of the oppressive room.

Zha moved to pick up a next box, a bit lighter this one. It was filled to its brink with dried food, nutrients and paste that would hopefully last for at least half a month, maybe three quarters is she kept her diet at minimum. She huffed and puffed as she tried to get the box on top of the first one, spilling some of the tightly packed paste bags on the floor. She started hooking the box to its place.

For the rest of the time she spent on hooking and taping the third box – dried herbs, immuno-boosters and antibiotics – the geth did not try to communicate with her. It wouldn't shut up, but at least it wasn't saying anything coherent. To Zha's eyes to geth looked confused. Or maybe angry. Then again, those plate movements might mean that it was happy as well. That was, if the geth were actually able to feel anything at all.

Once the last box was at place, Zha felt relieved. She had survived! It hadn't been all that bad actually, she had had no reason whatsoever to feel threatened by the synthetic securely held against the wall.

She did wonder, though. If VI-05 had not interfered, what would the geth had asked? It could have been anything, really. Zha's experiences with mechanical beings circled around VIs, not AIs and there was a clear difference. Everything she had been taught about the geth seemed useless now. The platform in her position had actually been the first one she had seen in real life, active and all. For all she knew, it could have been a normal synthetic or a glitched problem case.

What would it have asked? What could it possibly have wanted to know?

Well, it didn't matter now, did it? The job had been done, the boxes were placed as securely as was possible with a few rounds of duct tape and even though the pile was a tad bit skewed, it would hold. Scribble was not going to start speed racing any time soon and even though the ship was old and rusty, the gravitational fields were working efficiently. She could just leave, lock the door and be done with it.

Zha gave a worried glance at the geth that still seemed to follow her every move with keen precision. She licked her lips nervously, hoping the gesture would stay hidden behind her gray visor. Okay. Time to leave.

The geth was going to die. Well, to get terminated would have been a more accurate term but in the end the semantics didn't matter. The mobile platform and the programs in it were going to cease to exist soon, and that was her fault. She was going to take this geth to the Migrant Fleet where it would be torn apart and all the information in its head would be uploaded for everyone to see. The mere thought of that happening to her made Zha feel sick to her stomach.

It needed to be done. It was either her or the geth and she was certain that as a logical creature the geth before her would not hesitate to kill her if given a chance.

She was going to get this creature, this intelligent creature, killed. She owed it some answers at the very least.

"Your, um… your query," she said slowly, words sticking to her throat. "What was it?"

The expressive plates ceased their movements, stopping on top of its head and waiting. It was only now that Zha noticed that one of those four plates was missing, torn out it seemed.

The geth did not say anything, just sat where it had been bound. Zha started moving around nervously, waving her hands indecisively.

"I… uh… I'm done with the boxes now. I can… I can answer a question or two, if you'd like." No, no, no, that sounded too pleading. She should have gone with the strong and commanding tone that she did not posses. "So… So… Uh… Ask now or you'll never get another chance!" That statement was full of fail. She was going to drop dead from embarrassment.

"Last time creator was in the vicinity of the platform, data was exchanged," the geth said, voice clear and articulated. "Transaction was cut short after only three point five minutes of conversation. During this time unexpected behavior was witnessed."

To tell the truth, Zha could hardly remember a thing from that day. She had been so scared she'd been ready to run if the geth made a move.

"I… uh…" she said intelligently. "I was… nervous. And scared." Keelah. She had not meant to say that! She was supposed to pretend to be in charge of the situation, not quiver like a child! This meeting was going wrong in so many ways.

"The creator was under the impression that this platform was bound securely. The creator was in no danger. The explanation is flawed."

"Uh… Yeah, well that was what happened."

"We also recorded creator apologizing to us."

"I… I don't remember doing that."

The expressive plates started moving again.

"I answered your question. Could I… Can I ask something from you?"

"Begin transaction."

She had not actually thought the geth would agree to give away information. She gave it a careful questioning look. Zha could see no aggression, no intended violence, but then again, it was an automaton. No one knew what it was thinking.

So, she had a chance to ask anything. Anything she wanted. What should she ask?

"When you crawled out of the cargo few days back you started… glitching. You were twitching around, looking like you were having a seizure. What was that all about?"

She felt foolish. She felt like she was going to get the hate from all of her kind if this somehow reached the ears of the general quarian public.

The platform stayed unresponsive for what felt like an eternity. Even the face plates were moving slower, minuscule waves letting her know it the geth had not shut down during her fumbling words. From one angle it almost looked like the platform was frowning.

"No data available," it said.

She waited. It stayed silent. No explanation as given. Zha frowned with displeasure.

"F-fine!" she said. "Be that way! But if… if you don't answer my questions, don't expect me to answer yours e- either."

She signaled VI-05 to exit the hold, following close behind. She had had enough of this for one day. For a week. A month. Keelah, hopefully she would not have to see the synthetic again until her eventual trip to the Migrant Fleet. She was just about to let the door close behind her, when the geth spoke up again.

"Consensus achieved," it said simply.

"Um… What?"

It lifted its head, light shining brighter from its flashlight head.

"We have agreed that relaying information to the creator (designation marked down as 'miss Ora') about the unit's behavior is not detrimental to the geth community."

Zha halted by the door, frowning deeply behind her visor. Did that mean –?

"During the attempted escape this unit was trying to self-destruct in hopes of avoiding creator contact. Action was, at the time, impossible to execute and the platform was forced to shut down."

The door shut tightly between them, masking Zha's surprised look from the geth. She had not been expecting that answer, not really. But as far as she could tell, the geth did not lie. Well, it had said 'No data available', but she was quite certain its last remark had been true.


	9. Chapter 9

"I swear, this is the last place we're going to visit before going to the Fleet," Zha declared loudly.

For a moment she received no answer as the crew processed this statement.

"Affirmative," VI-14 said after a long pause.

"As you wish," Scribble said as well.

Zha wasn't sure why she was trying to seek acceptance from her crew but she knew that the only reason she was traveling towards this uncharted planet was the fact that she was a coward. And as one, she did what cowards did best: avoided her problems. Even with the geth on her cargo hold she was still coming up with numerous of plans that were just as insignificant as this one.

She had already exhausted her list of leads on possible looting places and was now running after some shady info bought from even shadier turian on Omega. According to him, there was an uncharted planet on a specific star system in Terminus that had hosted a hideout to Blue Suns until they had suddenly decided to pack up and leave. Zha had tried to ask why it had been abandoned, but the turian had just shrugged indifferently. The reason could have been anything from local wildlife to rivaling gangs.

The ship rocked from side to side when they entered the atmosphere. Zha took a seat and started to think. The turian had sworn this place would be empty, but Zha wasn't one to put herself knowingly in danger – not even when the call of loot grew very alluring. But she was running out of excuses to avoid her bigger problem, so scavenging it was. She was going to land on this strange little planet, but she wasn't going to do it alone.

"We are approaching the coordinates of the supposed base," Scribble said cheerfully. "We will be landing in approximately ten minutes. Please brace yourselves. Additional warning: The atmosphere of the planet is lacking of oxygen and I am regulated to advise you to wear an environmental suit at all times."

Zha was certain she had not programmed Scribble to understand the concept of humor so she let the remark slide.

"I'll take 14 with me, its pretty decent with handguns," Zha said. Previous trips to unknown planets had taught her some hard lessons on how to gather a proper landing party. Going alone was a good way to get killed but taking every single mech on the ship with her was an even better way to attract unwanted attention. "And 18 as well. I'm not sure how the terrain will be so four legs might be better than two down there. 10 will be our repair bot this time, 09 should stay in here in case something tries to get in without my permission."

"Noted," Scribble said. "Miss Ora, it might be beneficial to take 05 as well."

"Specify," Zha asked handing a pistol to 14. It was a rusty piece that ate heat sinks like crazy but it was all she'd been able to afford at the time.

"VI-05 is marked as the best battle mech, it also has the best shotgun on the ship. Switching VI-14 with VI-05 would raise the possibility of your survival notably."

"I need 05 in here," Zha said silently. "Keep it by the cargo hold door, make sure the geth does not get out."

"Affirmative," Scribble cheered.

She wasn't sure what exactly she was expecting the geth to do. So far it had behaved quite well considering its situation and it had not tried to get out and murder Zha in her sleep. But she did not want that thing moving freely on her ship, she did not want the damn thing unsupervised at any moment. She'd heard enough horror-filled tales from her father about the AIs meticulously killing every quarian they'd encountered. She was not going to let a thing like that loose on a small ship where no one could hide.

The surface of the planet was red like it had been covered with rust instead of sand. They had landed not far from a building marked with a Blue Suns insignia. The terrain was rough and uneven and Zha already knew 14 would be having a hard time moving around. She jumped out of the ship, watching as 18 scurried around like an over-eager varren.

The building wasn't that large on the outside but Zha's quick scans revealed a larger compound under ground. Good. The maze-like underground build would probably mean more loot. The door was naturally locked but things like that could not keep Zha out for long. She set her Omni-tool against the sun-heated surface of the door and started working the lock.

"Child's play," she said as the door opened. She'd unlocked locks more complicated when she was six. The doors opened with a painful groan, the rusty creeks echoing through the deserted base. Zha signaled 14 to move in first. It scanned the area, moving around slowly, pistol held high. Only when she heard a reassuring beep did Zha move in herself, 18 hopping behind her. The tiniest of her crew, little repair bot 10 was situated on VI-18's head, clicking its tiny claws to form a fast-paced rhythm.

VI-09 and 10 had been built after the destruction of 03, 04, 06, 07 and 08. A group of rat-tag pirates had decided to commandeer Zha's ship in hopes of finding something valuable. Taking an advantage of a lone quarian was like stealing candy from a child, Zha was hardly even considered a threat. 03 and 04 had been simple and small droids Zha had build only to have some company. They had no purpose and had been stumped like bugs upon the arrival of the pirates. 06 and 08 had been terminated while protecting their creator and had taken quite a few lowlifes with them before going down. 07 had been beyond repair and Zha had been forced to pull the plug herself later. Without 05's combat programming she would have no doubt died herself. After the attack all she'd have left were Scribble and 05, the latter being seriously damaged as well. That was when she'd decided they needed repair drones.

Of course, at first their programming had been quite basic, she'd ended up loosing the newer models, 11 and 12 on a around the Terminus system but after a bit more tinkering the repair drones had turned out to be quite potent. 13 and 14 had been attacked many times but so far the tiny spider-like drones had been able to fix everything. Sure, 16 had been crushed, but that had been an accident. 09 and 10 were both well programmed and an essential part of the crew.

The inside of the base was cold and musty. Out on top of the planet sun scorched the ground, making it hard to stay long in the shine but down here it was cold and all sorts of pale fungi were growing on the walls. Somewhere far of Zha could hear water dripping.

"Any signs of life?" she asked.

"Negative," 14 droned.

They moved downward.

Much to her dismay, it seemed like this place had been cleaned ages ago. All movables had been picked up and carried off somewhere. Scratches on the floor led towards the stairs and the front entrance but wet slime had covered most of the marks by now. Who knew how long this place had been abandoned. But Zha was not going to give up, this wasn't the first abandoned station she had looted. Something was always left behind, be it scrap or forgotten goods. Heck, there might even be some un-opened safes in the base. It wouldn't be the first time she stumbled upon little treasures like those. And they'd flown all the way to this forgotten planet in the middle of nowhere, the trip had drunk up fuels like crazy and that stuff wasn't for free. Zha was not going to leave empty-handed.

"18, search the rooms on the left hand side, come to me if you find anything of worth, anomalies too.14, stay with me."

But no matter how closely she examined the emptied rooms, they place seemed empty. The quarian scanned the walls in hopes of finding secret hideouts, ran her fingers along the crevices to spot hidden switches. Nothing.

She did find blotches of long since dried brown sustenance on the walls, though. Blood, her Omni-tool told her. Probably that of a human's. Zha didn't really feel the need to get worried about it. The splatters must have been years old, maybe even decades. Whatever had made those marks had moved on ages ago.

They spent looting for an hour and a half without any problems. They encountered no other dwellers, but Zha couldn't really say that the journey was a success either. All she'd been able to find was some unused heat sinks and a couple of cracked data pads but otherwise the place had been stripped clean. As much as Zha hated to admit it, the trip had been a bust and she'd gained nothing that would earn her any credits. And that, if something, made her peeved.

Her thoughts were disrupted by a silent sound.

Zha stopped her movements, freezing altogether. Beside her 14 stopped its movements as well, joints creaking and processors whirring silently. Zha perked up her hearing, tuning her suit's earpiece to its highest.

Nothing. Funny, she could have sworn she heard –

Rustling.

"What's VI-18's position?" she asked.

"One moment, please," 14 said, its voice too loud to her liking, echoing through the long corridors they had been walking along with just fine. "VI-18 is currently in the northern-most part of the building."

Another rustling sound made Zha almost jump out of her suit. There was something there with them. Something was moving along the corridors.

With some experience on looting Zha could tell that on nine times out of ten, whatever it was that lurked in the darkness, didn't like strangers raiding their lair. Zha's hands started shaking on their own accord and 14 perked up noticing its creator's elevated stress-levels.

Why was it that in her life, things tended to go very wrong very fast?

"Contact 18 and tell it to retreat at full speed, we're leaving this place immediately. Forget everything else, this place was a bust. Tell 18 to meet us outside the entrance," Zha spoke quickly, bringing out the map of the underground bunker. At that point her hands were shaking so bad she couldn't make any sense of the wavering image on her Omni-tool.

She was now speed walking, VI-14 keeping close behind. It was soothing to know that the mech was in high-alert state but if things went south, they might just end up trapped in this damn place.

Zha's feet slipped on the wet and slimy floor. She could hear some gurgling and moaning, an unmistakably organic sound. Slow dragging steps were approaching, something was definitely trying to reach them. The quarian quickened her pace so she was nearly running. Shit, shit, shit, this was not going to end well, she just knew it! Curse that bosh'tet turian and his intel.

She heard the sound again, but this time it came from another direction. How fast could this creature move? Or… Oh no. No, no! She did not want to believe that there could actually be multiple of these mystery creatures in this place. They'd done so well so far, they hadn't encountered any living beings at all. Had she kicked the hive or something?

"What's 18's position?" she asked whispering.

"VI-18 is currently approaching the entrance. VI-18 has not encountered any activities."

Good. Good. They were getting closer to the entrance as well. Zha lifted up her Omni-tool to see the crude map it had constructed according to their findings. They were almost there.

But things never work that easy. Never.

When she first saw the creature, she thought she was imagining things. She thought she was seeing things that were not there, that the looming darkness made the moving piece of flesh look worse than it actually was but when the creature stopped and turned its ugly head towards her, she realized that coming to this place had been a really bad idea.

It had a distinct look of a human. And by distinct, Zha thought, she meant there was really nothing else she could think of to compare it to. Its eyes were glowing in the dark with a synthetic light, its head tilted to the side and mouth hanging open. The thing was staring at her and her robotic companion with its unintelligent eyes, a body looking like it was made out of synthetic and organic parts. Zha took a careful step back.

It let out the most unnatural roar she had ever heard.

"Initiating battle sequence," 14 said.

"Abort! Abort! Run to the exit! We're leaving this place!"

The scrawny creature was not fast. It looked clumsy on its feet, the upper part of its body dragging down like the thing wasn't able to coordinate its movements correctly. Its arms waved around when it threw itself at Zha and 14. What the hell was that thing?

They quickly gained some distance from it, Zha was breathing so hard her visor started to fog up again. Perfect. Just what she needed.

That was when another creature, nearly identical to the first one came running around the corner and threw itself at Zha, knocking them both down in the process. The quarian got a good look at the thing when it tried to grab her neck with its spindly fingers. It was hideous and looked like it had been dead for decades.

"Miss Ora under attack. Initiating protective sequence."

14 ripped the thing off her, throwing it aside and shooting its head to pieces with the gun. Huh. The pistol actually was capable of killing something. You learn something new every day, Zha thought getting back on her feet.

Her mechanic companion turned to fire at another creature running down the hall. Zha shouted in frustration.

"No, no, I said run!" she shrieked, but 14 did not seem to listen. Whether it was a glitch on its programming or something else, it was not supposed to be able to override her commands. But it did. It shot a grotesque creature once, twice, three times before one of them fell down with an agonizingly metallic screech.

But they were not done. More of them were coming left and right and Zha knew for a fact that even if 14 had been installed with master marksman's programs that enabled it to kill with one shot, the gun would over-heat and the heat sinks would run out before the mech could drop all of these creatures.

Zha grabbed the shoulder paneling of 14, nearly dragging it behind her as she ran. It took up running as well and they sprinted towards the exit. More and more of those human-looking things were emerging. They started crawling up through holes on the floor, moaning as they moved.

Recognition hit her in the head as she was running for her life. She'd heard of things like these before. On the news a few years back. Yes, there had been that human colony under geth attack. What was it that these things had been called?

Oh yeah. Husks. These things were husks. Great. Now she knew what was going to be the death of her. How nice.

By some miracle they made it to the entrance in one piece. 18 had already prepared for battle, jumping at the approaching husks and sending electric shocks down their moving corpses.

"No, you stupid tin cans, we are leaving! Leaving! Keelah!"

"Survival of miss Ora is primary objective, survival of VI-10, -14 and -18 secondary," VI-14 said.

"What? No!" she shouted. "I didn't program that. Do as I say! Override sequence C-42-Q – "

"Negative, overriding sequence has not been acknowledged. Please locate ship at once."

Zha did not understand what was going on. But the husks were coming, they kept pouring out of every little hole on the hidden base, the only way she was going to get out of this alive was leaving and fast. So she ran. Zha and her mechs ran out through the door and into the scorching light of the sun.

Her ship was there already, no doubt summoned by either 14 or 18. It was hovering in the air, welcoming them home. 18 leapt in, turning to drag the squirming quarian by her hood in. 09 was with the big four-legger and 14 was the last to arrive.

But it didn't. Zha turned back to see the mech surrounded by those humanlike husks, they were gathering on top of it, preventing movement. It was not even fighting anymore, just watching at the hovering space ship.

"VI-05!" Zha shouted. "You are needed at the airlock ASAP!"

"Miss Ora, leaving the planet immediately is deemed necessary," Scribble informed.

"No, no, no! Keelah! Is no one listening to me anymore?!" she cried hysterically. "Get 14 on board right now!"

None of her trusted mechs and drones were doing anything to help and all Zha could do was watch in horror as VI-14 was ripped to pieces before her eyes. When the airlock was closed and the ship rose to fly out of the atmosphere of the red planet, Zha was sitting in shock, unable to move a muscle.


End file.
